


Powder Blue Silk

by JoyAndOtherStories



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), But apparently this is my style, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Draw This In Your Style, I also didn't write smut until just now, I don't draw, M/M, NSFW, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, drawlight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:46:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22098139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoyAndOtherStories/pseuds/JoyAndOtherStories
Summary: Written in response to Drawlight's NSFW Draw This In Your Style post. I don't draw, so this is my style. Fluffy Aziraphale/Crowley PWP, my first attempt at smut.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 66
Kudos: 241





	Powder Blue Silk

(Written in response to [drawlight](https://drawlight.tumblr.com)'s [Draw This In Your Style post](https://twitter.com/drawnightlight/status/1210715159666155520?s=19). Since drawlight has moved away from social media, the original image is no longer available there. Here are two other artists' renditions of it, though: lonicera-caprifolium [here](https://lonicera-caprifolium.tumblr.com/post/190028202728/drawlights-extremely-cute-dtiys-again) and edensfallenangelart [here](https://edensfallenangelart.tumblr.com/post/190986726899/finally-finally-managed-to-finish-something-for))

Crowley froze.

“Blue,” he said hoarsely.

“Very observant, dear,” said Aziraphale, with that bastard-lift of his eyebrows.

Crowley, by now, had seen Aziraphale in innumerable states of undress (not actually innumerable; he enumerated them on a fairly regular basis). He’d seen his angel spread wide, moaning, hard and leaking, countless times.

(Again, not actually countless.)

At the sight of the blue panties he’d just uncovered as he wrenched Aziraphale’s trousers down, the demon Crowley blushed and looked away.

“Do you like them?” Aziraphale asked, reaching down to take Crowley in hand. “Mmm. I believe you do.”

Crowley was twice as hard as he’d been thirty seconds ago.

He snuck another look. Aziraphale’s beige trousers were crumpled around his knees. He was otherwise naked, all that glorious soft skin exposed, except for—

Blue. Soft silk. Dainty scalloped trim.

A tiny damp spot betraying the angel’s arousal.

Crowley whimpered, slid his fingers under the scalloped edge—

“Oh, no, my dear,” said Aziraphale, deftly removing his hand. “I don’t think so. Not yet.” And he sank to his knees, took Crowley in his mouth.

Crowley, transfixed by the sight of blue silk barely covering the curve of Aziraphale’s hips, came in less than a minute.

When Aziraphale stood, Crowley reached again, a touch desperately, for that lacy edge—

“Stop that,” Aziraphale said, swatting his hand away, and tumbled him onto the bed.

He finished Crowley off five—no, six—more times, never letting Crowley touch him, even when his own arousal strained against the delicate powder-blue fabric. Crowley collapsed after the sixth time; he was later unsure whether he’d drifted to sleep or passed out. Either way, he was thoroughly unconscious until he awoke to morning sunlight trickling in, gilding cotton-soft hair silver, pooling in the hollows of feather-soft skin, caressing the curve of—

“ _Angel_ ,” Crowley moaned, hiding his face.

Aziraphale, propped up as usual on pillows against the headboard, was still clad only in the panties.

And he was _reading_.

Calmly.

Perusing a book as if he weren’t the utmost picture of unadulterated arousal.

“Yes, my dear?”

“Bastard,” Crowley breathed into a pillow. He lifted his head again, glared at Aziraphale, only allowing himself to look at the angel’s smug bastard face, not the plush, bare thighs, not the soft expanse of belly, and definitely not the silky blue stretched across the bend of his hip.

“I,” Crowley said firmly, “am going to go _out_. And buy us some _breakfast_.”

“That sounds lovely, dearest,” said Aziraphale, turning a page sedately.

Crowley swallowed, stood unsteadily, snapped his fingers to miracle his clothes into place.

Checked to be sure they were all present and in their correct locations.

Jacket, trousers, shoes.

Left the room with the sight of blue scalloped-edged panties scalded across the backs of his eyelids.

Breakfast was a mistake, he thought, some while later, rocking from one foot to another in a coffee shop line. _Damn_ humans and their caffeine addictions.

Caffeine addiction had not been his fault. Definitely not.

He should be back in Aziraphale’s flat, _now_ , in bed with his angel—or on the couch; he wasn’t picky—in the armchair, against a bookcase—

“Um, sir? What’ll you have?”

He managed to escape the coffee shop without cursing anyone too badly, and with some sort of pastries clutched in a sack.

“Angel?” he called, back in the bookshop with no clear memory of getting there. “I’ve got…danishes, or something.”

He saw the book first, then a curly halo of white hair above the back of an armchair, and then his heart sank—along with certain other key parts—at the sight of the arm that held the book, only a cardigan sleeve visible where it rested along the arm of the chair.

“Oh, wonderful,” said Aziraphale, standing, turning to face him with that beaming smile—

“Ngk,” said Crowley.

The cardigan hung loose and open, baring the angel’s lavish chest and belly, brushing halfway down his lush thighs, swinging freely to put the maddening panties on full display. And below all that were—

Socks—white cotton socks, blue stripe at the top to match the blue panties, stretched to the top of Aziraphale’s rounded calves—

And socks were not sexy, absolutely not, nor were soft tan cardigans, rumpled at the wrists, and hadn’t Crowley been holding pastries a moment ago?

He would have wondered where they’d gone, except that Aziraphale’s eyes were raking over him, pausing just perceptibly at the bulge in his trousers—

And Crowley was behind him in two strides, a handful of cardigan at Aziraphale’s shoulder crumpled in his fist, bulging trousers pressed into the panties where they stretched across Aziraphale’s curving rear.

“Get cold waiting for me, angel?” he rasped into Aziraphale’s ear.

“I did,” Aziraphale said, trying for placid, but Crowley heard the telltale breathlessness. The angel’s book hung in midair, both it and the hand holding it apparently forgotten.

Crowley snaked his hand under the cardigan, rested it on the curve of Aziraphale’s side, slid down the velvety softness to the delicate edge of silk.

“Mmmhhh,” breathed Aziraphale, tilting his head to bare his neck. Crowley could feel a flush rising in Aziraphale’s face to match his own.

He slid his fingers down, down, stretching the panties so that they barely kept their hold on Aziraphale’s hip.

Aziraphale took in a shuddering gasp, his eyelids fluttering closed.

Crowley smiled as he pressed kisses into his angel’s neck.

They never did find the pastries.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written smut before; drawlight's post was inspiring, so I figured I'd give it a try. Comments VERY welcome to let me know what works for you!


End file.
